Lilies and Distractions
by JPLE
Summary: Some say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Series of one shots for all those moments that flashed before Lily. Lily/James.
1. Plans

I've never owned a diary.

I've owned stacks of planners, filled to the brim with revision time tables and notes of class work and exam schedules. Colour coded and filed away under appropriate headings. Green for potions, yellow for transfiguration, black for defence against the dark arts and blue for charms.

I'm a planner. I plan for things to go ahead.

I planned to be Head Girl this year, to not drop a mark in any of my tests, papers, assignments or exams. I planned to be the smartest thing that has ever graced the halls of this school.

Diaries really don't fit into that plan. Let's face it, there's just not enough time. Being this dedicated takes up all my time as it is; I wish I had more of it.

But if I did write a diary, it would currently be filled with my deepest fears. Because; something is stopping me from achieving everything I've planned for, dreams I've planned for my whole schooling life.

_Dear Diary,_

_What in Merlins name has happened to me?_

_All I used to dream of was high marks and shiny silver badges, accompanied by glowing remarks from teachers and a million and one house points earned for excellence and dedication to school work._

_I used to dream of thoroughly colour coded exam time tables, sticking perfectly to them, organising my time with no distractions so every single little thing got done. _

_The only way to achieve all of this was to have as little outside commitments as possible. _

_I have friends, people like me, although I'm not sure that it's because I can assist with homework or essays or because they enjoy my company, but that has never bothered me before. Before now I didn't care if someone didn't pay me enough attention because, in the end, I would get everything I've ever dreamed about._

_I always achieve everything I dream of having. I'm a planner._

_But now I've got something else in my head, someone else. This time, I'm not sure if even planning could get me it. _

_Not even the schools most notorious planner ever planned for my worst enemy to turn into my most desired object._

_I can't let this happen. It doesn't fit in with my plan. People in general do not fit into this plan at all. _

_It nauseates me to even think of myself as a giggling, lovesick teenager, completely obsessed over one of the schools most sought after males. They're all so shallow and idiotic, and play stupid pranks on people which are rarely ever funny._

_I thought I was too sensible, too focussed to ever undergo such a drastic personality transplant. I could never become one of them._

_Not to mention that being hopelessly in love with someone is dangerously distracting._

_Distractions are not helpful in the quest to achieve my dreams, but this time my dreams are colliding. I can't have one or the other, so one has to be sacrificed. Trust me; I've done everything possible to sacrifice this particular distraction._

_Schoolwork was the- no- IS the most important thing, and nothing is going to stop that._

_Except maybe a messy dark haired boy with hazel brown eyes and glasses which are always slightly askew on his face. Tall and lean, but with some hint of muscles under his robes, toned from hours of quidditch practise; which I hear is more strenuous than it looks. _

_I only just noticed how long and thick and black his lashes are, framing his inquisitive eyes. Did I mention they were hazel? I love how it's kind of brown but also green and gold. It's very mesmerizing. Hazel is now my favourite colour. _

_Oh and he's Head Boy this year._

_We share a dormitory. We share a bathroom. _

_This also means even as I sit thinking about writing my nonexistent diary he's staring at me from across the landing, from his bedroom door. His bedroom is literally less than ten metres from mine. This is very bad. _

_With a capital V._

_I've only been back here for three hours and I'm already distracted. I should be colour coding my planners for heaven's sakes. I'm going to start using them tomorrow._

_Maybe I should say something, excuse myself quickly so I can go and write an introductory essay for transfiguration on some of our core topics this year. Transfiguration is my worst subject._

_Transfiguration is his best subject._

_I could practise my patronus charm. I don't know what form it takes yet; I hear we have to produce one for our NEWTS this year because of the growing dark forces of magic which are beginning to pop up everywhere._

_I wonder what form his will take._

_I can't even think of work anymore or exams without intertwining him into it._

_Someone admit me to the hospital wing before my entire life becomes intertwined with him._

_Surely there's a potion for this._

_He grins at me with one corner of his mouth slightly higher than the other through his cherry coloured lips._

_I wonder if they taste like cherries._

_See diary? I'm losing my mind. This cannot be happening; I didn't plan for it to happen._

_I'm a planner._


	2. Introducing

A/N: Sorry for all the delays; works a bitch and university takes a lot of planning. I'm back.

This is set when Lily is returning from a horrible Christmas break (as I imagine it with loadssss of Petunia and Vernon cooing- ergh).

* * *

I can feel the aura before I even open my eyes from racing through the seemingly solid brick wall.

I can feel the breeze on my face; hear the aimless chatter of hundreds of students; my hands still tightly gripping the metal, rickety trolley. Petunia's scathing words from the other side of the wall fall silent, blown away by the breeze and inexplicable rush of warmth covering my body, reaching my limbs and my fingers.

I'm home.

I will my eyelids to flutter open and feel the euphoria fill my head, combined with the sadness in the knowledge that the days I would board the train which took me away to my alternate reality were numbered.

The reality that was literally my haven; it held my most treasured memories. Somewhere safe, welcoming and above all; truly magical.

My consciousness struggles to regains control, to push aside the daydreaming, the wonderment which takes over every time I enter this place after three months of mundane muggle-dom.

But it's true; all good things come to an end, even if they're only five seconds long.

It's rudely pushed aside as a voice, harsh, irritating and utterly heart stopping, fills my head.

There's all the use in world to pretend like he doesn't affect me. He can't know how it really feels. This year's encounters were close; the tension could be cut with a knife, but he can't know what runs through my seventeen year old head every time he so much as whispers.

He knows exactly how to render my brain into a slushy like state.

Damn him.

He asks me how my Christmas was. Did I manage to splinch myself again while attempting to apparate? Did I accidently set my house on fire while trying out the complex transfiguration spells I was incapable of?

Despite the fact that my brain now resembles a squished slug, instinct is my saviour.

My face contorts into a frown; I feel my eyebrows furrow and push together; my lips purse together into a thin line and my eyes flick away from him in irritation.

This is Lily.

He throws his head back in laughter; his asymmetrical lips wide in amusement. Then his cherry lips widen into a smirk, flicking his rich black lashes and hazel eyes in my direction. He says something which I can't recall due to my mixed irritation and mesmerisation and turns to walk alongside a tall, black curly haired boy. He shoots me a look from over his friend's shoulder. One eyebrow rises in questioning, lips curving flirtatiously.

This is James.

I roll my eyes and take a breath to settle myself. Control feels sweeter than revenge.

Pushing my trolley with more purpose than before towards the brilliant, red steam train, I pass by the greetings of my classmates flippantly, determined to reach the luggage compartment as quickly as possible.

Levitating my cases, full of robes, potions, colour coded textbooks, planners and a new, untouched diary, I rest them effortlessly and wordlessly into a compartment and close it firmly with a flick of my willow wand.

Then, as purposefully as I came, I alighted, climbing into a doorway of the main train, striding past compartments packed full of students of varying year levels. I slip past Severus, engrossed, almost sickeningly, in a book which could belong in the restricted section and flipping ideas and comments, probably of a gruesome nature, at McNair and Avery.

He catches my brief stare and curves his lips into a frown, furrowing his dark features and glaring intensely. He may as well have died. I couldn't tell this boy apart from the next prospective Death Eater, regardless of whether he was once my best friend.

My breath catches a little, but settles immediately as my stomach turns to stone. Forget it Lily.

I'm walking again, rushing past more compartments, making my way to heads compartment, to meet another challenge I'd only just encountered.

I hoped I'd be able to catch a few moments of privacy, collect my thoughts, memorise a few ideas for the prefect meeting, and take the upper hand in the battle of the Head Students-with-conflicting-ideas. Potter had originally wanted pranking as a class and Slytherins to be renamed Slitherings.

He was joking; granted. But as all boys, he wasn't always exceptionally funny.

This was a new term. The same Lily. The same James.

The heads dormitory was simultaneously the worst and best room in Hogwarts. Precious time was spent wasted on gazing over his sleeping form in bed, clearly visible from my room, less than ten metres away. His habit of keeping the bedroom door open was very distracting.

My work is exceptional. That has not changed. But it's taken a new kind of determination to keep it that way. Self control and discipline are stretched to the limits. Prioritising is my new watchword.

Prioritising would infer splitting my time. I don't have the time to split. All of my time is work time. But somewhere in my brain is dedicated to pushing some James time.

It became James. Not Potter. James.

Out loud it's Potter. In my brain it's James.

I've lapsed into semi-insanity.

Of course he's there, waiting for me patiently in the compartment dedicated to James time.

School is against me. Work is against me.

What is this?

He smirks and lifts his head inquisitively. My breath doesn't have time to stop this time, my stomach doesn't flip flop. Because he has my blank diary in his hand; flicking through the pages by wand, inscribing my love for him in inerasable charms.

My gaze turns murderous, my teeth grind, my jaw locks.

I lunge for it, he throws it out of my reach instantaneously, as quick as a chaser flips to avoid a rogue bludger. But instead of landing on the seat next to him, diary in hand victorious, I fall slightly off balance, onto his lap. His breath hitches as his hands soften immediately, dropping and curving to my waist as he pulls me closer.

Somewhere within my subconscious I hear a scream and a moan simultaneously as he pushes his lips, momentarily onto mine, wet and encouraging, begging me for reciprocation.

I push him into the back of the seat with my left hand roughly, breaking my desire as I slap my right hand over his face. This motion infuriatingly makes him laugh in hilarity rather than yell in pain.

I feel like I've hit that brick wall.

This is Lily and James.


	3. Oxymorons

A/N: Calls for dialogue really didn't fit with this little piece of James-induced delirium sorry; but I wanted to let you know that more extensive dialogue is definitely considered and will be appearing in the near future. I havn't ignored you! :)

I would call this fluff. But there's a bit too much Lily-esque sarcasm and down-to-earth sentiment to be truly fluffy. I like Lily being real, don't you?

* * *

There's something confusing about boys.

Maybe it's the way they act; all cocky and self assured when they repeat with such conviction that you hold the only keys to their heart. The way they change like a chameleon with no warning. The way they manage to captivate you with the simplest of movements; their little quirks which you both love and hate.

Love to hate. There's a euphemism for you.

If it's not used in conjunction with relationships it may as well be an oxymoron.

I'm organised. I love or hate something, not both at the same time.

Enter James Potter.

He's strutting alongside me right now; patrolling the corridors with purpose, ease and arrogance evident in his posture and stride. He's looking straight ahead; actually doing his job, looking out for misdeeds, students out of bed or anyone tucked away secretly in the broom closets, unlike me. I'm staring at him because for once in my life, I can't work something out.

Let's cut to the chase. I like James Potter.

Yes; like him like him. As in, not the way that you like strawberry flavoured ice-cream or candlelit dinners. Like as in, when we sit in the comfy chairs of the heads common studying, and he looks up at me through his dark lashes I want to desperately fling myself onto his chair and kiss the living daylights out of him.

It's not just the physical attraction either. I could deal with that.

It's the stupid, bloody emotions that come alongside it.

I get a sickening feeling in my stomach when a bludger comes a little too close to his head during Quidditch games. He always manages to miss them by inches, but it makes me want to vomit all over the Gryffindor banners strung over the stands. I **worry** about him.

I'm not exactly sure what I'm worrying about; psychoanalysing myself is not one of my strengths; you can't learn that in a book. Sometimes I get the feeling is an instinctual thing; I couldn't deal with a world minus James Potter. Even though that bludger probably won't kill him; the pitted feeling won't leave me alone.

I love the way he's got this other side which no one can see. I adore the way he owls his mother every couple of days religiously. He makes me swear not to tell anyone.

I love the way he swings his arm around my shoulders on the couch in the heads common room; nonchalantly warming me up, like he's totally oblivious to any kind of feeling that sets off in me. Like fireworks bursting out of my chest.

His secret little smiles which I think are meant just for me. I like him because he's **my James.**

His quirks. God. I love his quirks. I love the way he ruffles the back of his messy hair when he's nervous, or anxious or scared. It gives his stony face away in an instant. I love the fact that he does it when I glare at him, or roll my eyes in frustration. I can make him scared.

Making him scared when I'm angry is the most satisfying thing.

I love the way that he breaks into an uncontrollable smile when I smile at him. Like **I can make him happy.**

But predominantly there's just that feeling; the reassurance that he will never, ever give up. No matter how many times I reject him, or yell at him; he won't ever leave me. It's a safeguard. It's okay because I still have that one person I can rely on to always watch out for me, be consistent, never, ever change.

That sounds so twisted because we're not even together.

But here's the catch. I hate James Potter.

Fluffy, heart warming feelings accompanied by a rich melody of classical music ends here.

I absolutely despise his arrogance.

He **knows** Hestia Jones and Patricia Davies are in love with everything he and Sirius do. They could be cutting each other's toenails and still make them sigh and shoot disgustingly lovey-dovey faces at them.

He **knows** he's good looking, he **needs** me for a constant stream of abuse otherwise his head would literally not fit in the entire castle.

All six hundred and twenty seven rooms of it. Or twenty six; if you don't count the Room of Requirement.

To everyone else he's James Potter; Quidditch hero.

To himself it's James Potter; Quidditch hero, absolute-freaking-genius at transfiguration, exceeding-expectations-in-every-subject-despite-never-studying, breaking-all-the-school-rules-and-getting-away-with-it-every-time, head boy, eighth natural wonder of the world who-the sun-shines-upon-every-day.

He probably thinks he could solve Lord Voldemort's deep seated mental issues and divide by zero at the same time.

Now that I think about it; there could be some signs of elemental jealousy in there...

Self-Psychoanalysis ends now.

He's rude and racist. Well, I'm not sure that one can count Slytherins as a race, but if they were, he would be racist. At least he's not all about the pureblood garbage.

James Potter is a prat.

A very irritating prat; who is now staring back at me in my little state of psychological analysis and slight delirium.

The most annoying thing about loving to hate someone is that it's such an oxymoron at some stage you're going to have to choose one or the other.

I'm not sure I could love James Potter.

But I certainly couldn't hate him either.

I like him. Where does that even fit? Is there a little continuum I can place a little dot on in ink and be done with it?

I suppose not. Because annoying as it is, love and hate both grow on you, and take that little ink dot in opposite directions. Like ink when water seeps up the paper and runs it all down your page. When you cry on your work because everything is so overbearing sometimes and all your perfect script runs everywhere so you have to start again and end up waking up all over it because you fell asleep accidently...

Perhaps that's just me.

But I'm sure that's the answer to my love and hate. I'm just going to have to wait until that little dot is soaked in water, and runs one way or the other.

I'm still staring at him when we approach the staircase to go down to the heads dorm. I must be scaring him a bit by now, but I'm so immersed in my thinking I can't help but submit to my thoughts over reality.

Unfortunately, reality has a way of springing itself on you, no matter how hard you think.

I'm not really aware of falling until I feel that sharp pain all over random parts of your body which tell you you've hit something hard and you've done it looking like a complete spaz. When you look up and see a flight of stairs hazing in and out from above you, you're damaged brain says that you're a complete idiot.

More worryingly however, is the fact that I've done it headfirst. It hurts. In literally fifty different places.

Things are getting a bit fuzzy really, black spots are appearing in my vision and I'm actually getting a bit frightened and feeling less worried about my appearance than other things; when a set of lean but strong arms lift me into a sitting position.

A concerned face appears into my fading vision. He smirks slightly. I can't blame him; it must have been at least mildly funny.

'Lily?' he calls. Seeking for an 'I'm fine' or at least a 'Get off me Potter.'

But I can't even manage that.

'Lily?' he repeats, a little less sure of himself, eyebrows down turning in confusion, his cherry lips set in a straight line.

'Are you retarded? I've got multiple head injuries; take me to the hospital wing you twat!' I moan. Somehow I find a bit of voice left in me.

He smiles and whispers 'Yes Lily love' and picks me up gently in his arms before I can complain or hit him over his head with a blunt object.

He is not allowed to pick me up. He does not own me.

But my visions getting a little poorer, my hearing is definitely gone; so I succumb to his attempt at chivalry and let myself relax a little.

I think that little ink dot is moving, I can feel it, even in my state of disorientation. It's drifting, held on the paper by the seeping water towards the side with stupid fluffy love letters and Valentine 's Day chocolates.

If that's what love is, then Lily Evans will never be in love. Not even if that ink dot runs off the paper.

Let's face it. I love to hate James Potter.

Lily and James. Now there's an oxymoron.


	4. Aim

The heights are so absolutely awkward and wrong in this situation.

I have to bend my knees uncomfortably, because I'm painfully engaging my criminally underworked quadriceps. I have to bend over on a ninety degree angle as well because otherwise it just wouldn't work, sticking my butt in the air and dipping my head, hair falling around my face.

He's standing in front of me, black hair messy as always, looking slightly frazzled. His Adams apple bobs, as he swallows dryly, taking a deep breath as I bend over to place my mouth in the appropriate place.

Within seconds there is a gush of liquid filling my mouth, warm and satisfying my thirst.

He coughs loudly and taps his foot impatiently as I lift myself out of my awkward position from the drinking fountain beside the Quidditch pitch.

Clearly I've irritated him somehow.

'Evans, as far as I can tell, you are not a sweaty and hot Gryffindor Quidditch player, so let me use the drinking tap already' he whines, ruffling his black hair with his left hand, his face flushed from the cold wind and exercise.

'You couldn't be seriously telling me that riding around on a broom counts as strenuous physical exercise Potter?'I mutter as I clasp my hands above my head and stretch out my back, like a cat in the midday sun.

He frowns, black lashes closing in around his hazel eyes in an irritated glare. His black eyebrows furrowing together, his lips set in a straight line and pulling to the side, crinkling his nose.

'There's a lot more skill to playing Quidditch than reading books Evans' he retorts with a huff, while crouching, bending and shifting his weight in order to drink the water spurting up from the metal tap.

Really, it was made for a five year old. Or a house elf.

'Like having a natural affinity for balls wanting to hit you in the head?' I counter.

'Like hand-eye co-ordination?' he spits through drinking the water hungrily. He pauses for a second before adding 'you could do with a bit of that.'

I hate you James Potter.

I wish you would forget about the stupid stair incident.

A memory charm is definitely in order.

'Like frequent brain damage?' I bite, glaring with the intensity of a thousand knives at his back, my cheeks rising to the same colour as my hair.

'But you've already had enough of that' I finish, my tone changing from light sarcasm and wit to frustrated with his last comment.

'Like a god-like physique, with devilish good looks and a fan club of at least two hundred adoring females, willing to do your bidding' he adds.

He stops drinking and turns his face sideways to catch a glimpse of mine. I think he hopes his comment about adoring witches will bring on some kind of jealous tear-fest, with me proclaiming my undying love and begging for his forgiveness.

Whatever Potter.

Okay so I am a little jealous, but only a little because I know he doesn't really have an adoring fan club of exactly two hundred adoring females.

Maybe only one hundred and ninety nine.

'Oh Potter' I add smirking childishly, mimicking something he would pull on me after 'accidently' turning my hair into soot in potions or stealing my diary from the luggage compartment on the Hogwarts Express to irritate me.

'I almost forgot' I continue slyly, as he continued to drink, 'an oversized ego is absolutely essential in the sport.'

Here's the punch line.

I push my thumb half over the spout for the fountain under his lips, so for a split second the water comes out in all directions, spurting all over his face.

Really, it was a spur of the moment thing; I'm not usually that immature.

I'm not usually an athletic person either, my quadriceps would tell you that after a visit to the drinking fountain. But by the way I bolt back to the castle at full pace, dodging a stinging hex and shooting a full-body-bind curse over my shoulder, I feel like an Olympic sprinter.

Unfortunately I'm not actually an Olympic sprinter because he manages to catch me around the waist in about five seconds flat.

Evidently my aim for fully body-binding people isn't as good either.

His hands close around my waist, holding me back against his warm chest, which would actually feel reasonably comfortable if he were not so keen on throwing me to the ground and administering the payback that I so deserve.

But he's suddenly had a change of plans; I can feel it as he swings me over his shoulder like a sack of red haired, angry, squealing potatoes, and I can tell I'm not going to be keen on it.

He marches forwards with me kicking his back and yelling at him to put me down immediately as this whole experience is utterly frustrating and degrading, and I really hope no one can see it.

'Relax Lily, you seem to like water, so you'll be fine' he murmurs, a can practically hear the smirk building up on his face.

Then it hits me. No way James Potter.

But before I can argue I feel myself being flipped over, swung and released into the air, falling into the blackness that is the Hogwarts black lake.

I always said I would rather date the giant squid than James Potter, but now I'm not so sure.

I'm about to become utterly submersed in the dark and bottomless waters so I reach out to try and grab onto anything to keep me from falling into its depths. I find and grasp his leg as mine touch the water and he's dragged in with a yell, splashing down next to me and gasping as he resurfaces.

He shakes his waterlogged hair and glares at me, his cherry lips pursed so hard that they turn white where they meet.

I look away decisively and lift myself onto the banks of the lake, wringing out my hair with my fingers until the bulk of the black water has been squeezed out. Sitting on the edge with my legs still submersed, I begin to do the same to my robes.

He swims lazily over to me, pushing himself up next to me and copies my actions before trying to push me back in sneakily with this right hand.

He misses, so I glare at him intensely.

Then he decides that it's a good idea to lean over, between the miniscule space between our wet and bedraggled bodies and kiss me full on the mouth.

Honestly I have no idea where that came from.

He manages to catch me a little off guard so the kiss ends up being more towards my bottom lip as he's a lot taller than I am and has leant a little too far over in his eagerness to steal a moment of James-centric heaven.

The heights are so absolutely awkward and wrong in this situation.

But that's a bonus for me, because as soon as my brain kicks in and turns from utter sop to in-control-Lily I push him with both hands as hard as I can back into the lake.

He yells and splutters but I'm already sprinting again, back to the castle, back to the safety of teachers and rules.

Unfortunately he's got a lot better aim than I do.

I feel my arms lock beside me, my body go as rigid as a board and I topple over, eyes racing in their sockets.

Full body bind curse.

Original Potter.

* * *

Hands up if your mind is dirty: you probably would have interpreted the drinking tap scene differently ;)

Tell me what you think.


	5. Competition

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter or the beautiful characters.

I don't own Barry Trotter or Veronica Mars either - there's a little reference in there...

* * *

I swear I'm not usually a competitive person.

I'm not into sports for one; although I do enjoy swimming a fair bit, when I'm not being pushed into the lake by Potter. I used to give those sixty year old grandparents a run for their money up and down the slow lane, thrashing around doing freestyle, pretending I was some Olympic swimmer with oversized hands and feet.

Come to think of it; think I'm almost fast enough to get into the slow/medium composite lane. How exciting.

But that is the extent of my competition; until it comes to schoolwork.

Specifically a combination of schoolwork and Potter.

See, we have this petty, little, unspoken competition between us. The master is the person who can excel in the most school subjects we both take, without looking as if we do any work.

To be honest I'm comfortably winning at the excellence part, but not so much at the 'I've-never-touched-a-book-in-my-life' part.

Potter may make me look like a squib in transfiguration but there's no way he could ever brew a polyjuice potion (frankly he wouldn't have the patience), or cast _homenum revelio_ non-verbally without making every girl in the rooms skirts fly over their heads (not that he would mind that).

So as for now, I'm sitting pretty with two subjects under my belt while he's got one. But today it seems, another will be decided because, being late in the school year and edging closer to NEWT exams, Professor Dromatious, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher has decided we are learning to cast a patronus.

Theoretically, I should blitz this, because one's patronus is produced by the incantation of a _patronus charm_ and I am excellent at charms thank-you-very-much.

However Potter is known for some kick in of brilliance when it comes to subjects where he can pretend to be an absolute hero and brag about how he's going to find the entrance tests for the Auror academy akin to snogging a girl.

So be it James Potter.

We're all standing in lines up and down the dim classroom. In order to identify our first wisps of a successful patronus the curtains have been drawn tight and the darkness of the classroom is, to be honest, slightly creepy given the contents in the jars behind the professor's desk. Of course, I spend a lot of time in the dungeons for Potions, so really it shouldn't be a problem. However for some reason there's a bit of negativity in my mind, and the whole aura is a bit depressing.

The professor explains this by noting to the class that he has cast a charm to give the room a slight hint of the despair felt by the incoming of dementors; it also serves to make casting the charm harder, as in a depressed state thinking of happy memories becomes a bit of a tedious task.

Still; I'm confident that this one is mine.

Potter is smirking at me from the other side of the room; his lips lifted slightly more to the right; his top teeth only slightly gnawing at his bottom lip. His eyebrows are raised slightly on the right side as to give me an indication that he thinks differently.

Game on.

I cross my arms and nod my head in his direction to indicate that he should attempt first. He obliges and pulls out his wand in an arrogant flourish. Sirius copies him identically, whispering something to James which makes them both smile. Peter looks over to them hopefully and Sirius beckons him over to join them. Remus is speaking to the teacher in a low voice, clearly something disturbing him about the scenario and after a few minutes we watch him run out of the dimly lit classroom.

James, Sirius and Peter watch him go and look after him a little wistfully but I stamp my foot impatiently. If he's going to beat me he has to do it soon otherwise this match is forfeited and I automatically win.

They grin, flourish their wands and mutter at identical times; 'Expecto Patronum.'

As if it was the easiest, most flawless thing in the world three animals burst out of the tips of their wands, floating on air, dancing around each other in their individual forms.

I may have been in a state of shock to learn that Peter Pettigrew wasn't actually a squib, but I could still appreciate the beauty.

None of the boys looked at all surprised or concerned at the shapes of their patronuses; an oversized rat, an oversized shaggy dog and a regal stag and watched them dive and leap through the air in thin, silvery wisps.

Professor Dromatious was, of course, beside himself. Three students managing to cast a perfect patronus charm on their first attempt was virtually unheard of. Every other head in the room turned to face them, as their feeble silvery wisps of light were outshone by the brilliant animals dancing around the room.

I may as well have _engorgio_-ed Potter's head the way it was expanding.

When everyone had stopped admiring their utter brilliance, the three smug boys turned to face me and raise their eyes in unison; stamping their foot in an imitation of my frustration.

I furrowed my eyebrows and glared at them.

Stupid prats.

So to show them I unfurl my arms from their crossed position, flourish my wand in an exaggeration of their showiness and steady myself to cast my own patronus.

Unfortunately, the dim and gloomy classroom is making it impossible for me to think of something happy enough to concentrate on, so when I clearly state 'Expecto Patronum' a thin wisp of silver emanates from my wand which I stare at glumly, in defeat.

Dementors would currently be munching on my soul if this was real.

I want to disappear, because Black and Pettigrew are smiling at me so smugly that I could literally vomit on my nicely polished shoes and then probably on their tattered ones too. They have their eyebrows raised in unison, portraying their disbelief and Peter leans over to James and whispers all too loudly; 'I never knew I was smarter than Evans.'

Sirius barks in laughter; which is strange because it literally sounds very animalistic, but James doesn't. He rolls his eyes at Peter and proceeds to remind him that he was the one who lasted five minutes tops in potions without blowing something up accidently.

Sirius barks again because apparently his comment was overtly sexual.

Sirius Black is more like Serious Bleugh at the moment.

* * *

It's twelve at night and I'm still being pathetic; trying desperately to make this stupid Patronus Charm work. Problem is; I can't dredge up any notable happy memories I've had of late which are heart-warming enough to use in a fight against my non-existent dementor.

I've tried this spell a thousand times since I trudged back into the heads room this evening and to be honest, I'm beginning to think I'm losing it.

Schoolwork should never be this hard.

Just as I'm producing the three thousandth disappointing wisp of silver that I have numerous times today, Potter waltzes through the door of the heads dormitory; evidently back from a night of stuffing himself with food in the kitchens with Sirius.

When he sees me his forehead relaxes and his mouth picks up in the corners into a wide grin which shows his teeth and crinkles the corners of his eyes.

You would think that he's seeing the Chudley Cannons win the Quidditch Cup or something.

Why do I make him so goddamn happy all the time?

He's caught me in the act too; trying desperately to be as good as him at something I never expected him to beat me at. I feel a little crestfallen which, no doubt, is hindering my ability to produce a half decent patronus. When he realizes what I've been up to he smiles a little again, and then surprisingly, offers to help me produce one.

This is utterly degrading as clearly I am his academic superior – but I kind of feel like accepting the offer anyway. James is _sometimes_ good company – especially since I need a bit of a mood lift.

'I don't need your help Potter' I hiss in a frustrated whisper 'I just can't think of anything to be happy about.'

'Oh' he sighs, dropping onto the couch next to me, putting his hands around his face in thought.

'I bet that's why it's easy for you anyway; you're forever thinking up idiotic things which you seem to find hilarious' I moan, slipping into an even more depressed state.

'It might surprise you Lily, but I actually don't think about myself when I cast my patronus' he grins at me with a raise of his eyebrows.

'Whatever Potter' I mumble, head sinking slowly down into my hands as I cover it completely with them in defeat.

'If you like I can help you think of something' he offers.

'Potter you know nothing about my life except that I like chocolate mint flavoured ice cream and hate transfiguration' I snap, glaring at him suspiciously.

He is beginning to alarm me. Potter looks like he's going to try something in the space of about six seconds.

'Well we could always make a happy memory' he prompts, lifting his head to mine, smiling expectantly.

'What do you mean P-'I begin but I'm a bit too busy to finish the sentence.

All of a sudden his lips are meeting mine again; but it's a little different this time to when he tried this on the train and at the lake.

He's a bit more gentle, lifting my chin up and craning his neck down so our lips touch gently, grazing his cherry lips against mine before pressing them against each other a little harder to deepen the kiss.

I found my hands wandering to the nape of his neck and the back of his head, playing with his hair as his lips moved against mine, exploring each other with tongues, lips and teeth which he used gently to nibble on my lower lip.

I was doing way too much kissing with Potter lately, rather than yelling at him.

Where were my instincts when I needed them?

But apparently they have abandoned me because no sooner had Potter began to draw his lips away from mine, when I lunged back at him for more.

Stupid teenage hormones were evidently not finished kissing the surprised, but gorgeous looking male sitting on the couch next to me.

He groans as I slip my tongue back into his mouth and his hands and arms encircle my waist holding me closer to him as if I am some vital energy source he needs to survive. I tease him mercifully dragging my lips across to his neck, kissing down the carotid artery and muscles, gently sucking on the place where his neck and shoulders met.

After a good ten minutes of snogging I decide that he has probably helped me create enough happy memories for perhaps one patronus, so we sit back on the couch, breathing deeply and erratically.

I reached for my wand and he automatically shies away as if I was about to hex him into oblivion.

'Lily I'm sorry I didn't mean to-'he gasps, looking alarmed and jumping back onto the arm rest of the couch.

I laughed out loud; he was so clueless sometimes.

Flicking my willow wand gently, I let my memory flood with James Potter induced euphoria brought on by our indulgent kissing session and clearly state 'Expecto Patronum.'

James must be really _really_ good at snogging.

Out of my wand, building in thin silvery wisps is my patronus; fully bursting from my wand after a second and taking shape in the middle of the room, just over the coffee table.

Potter lets out some kind of noise which sounds like he has choked on his tongue.

I'm not immediately sure why because in the middle of the room shines the most beautiful animal I have ever seen. It's a doe, long limbed, silvery and with orb like eyes, covered by dark, long lashes.

Bambi's mother has nothing on her.

I feel kind of like a proud parent.

Then I remember Potter next to me and turn to see his eyes as wide as the deer's, looking between me and it with some kind of Lily-induced shock.

After a minute or two he recovers and starting at the middle of his lips and spreading out to the corners of his mouth and lips begins the most breathtaking and giddy smile I have ever seen him produce. He literally looks like I just said yes to marry him, or someone has told him that he's won the lottery of ten million gallons.

I'm was so bewildered by this that I scrunch my face up in confusion and glare at him.

He responds by flicking his wand and whispering the incantation, as the silver stag bursts from his own wand and dances around my pretty animal.

We both stare, him in blind happiness and me in ultimate confusion.

Then I push him off the couch and glare more intensely at him than when he had thrown me, unceremoniously into the lake.

'Potter you ruined my Patronus!' I shriek shrilly, probably bursting his eardrum in the process.

Good.

'What do you mean?' he asks in confusion, but nothing could wipe that stupid smile off his face.

'I-I thought of kissing you, and so it just took the form of the complement of your one' I stutter, anger flushing through me.

'Oh Lily' he sighs, smile still plastered all over his features 'you really didn't do the reading before this class did you?'

'What?'

'I can't determine your patronus for you it's supposed to be a reflection of your personality and' he pauses before accentuating the next word; '_feelings.'_

'What would you know about feelings Potter?' I mutter, offended that he knows more on a certain topic than I do.

'Well I know now that somewhere, he reaches over to tap on my head in what I guess to be affection, 'there's a slightly less angry young woman who is dying to ask me to Hogsmeade this weekend' he half laughs, throwing his head back fully at my deathly expression.

With that I throw a pillow at his head, hitting him square in the face, catching him off guard.

He grins even more.

Stupid Potter; I'll get you.

I swear I'm _really_ not that competitive.

* * *

_Bit lengthy, sorry._

_Tell me what you think - honestly._

_I'm not too sure if this chapter sucks or not..._

_As Always,_

_Lola._


	6. Stupid

For JR; because some guys are careless and stupid.  
I wish I could reply to your comment - I love it.

* * *

I'm pathetic; extremely so.

It's true; I am the one leaning so far over my bubbling cauldron that my hair caught a light on the flames and caused the class to go into a ruckus only five minutes previously. It's a little singed but I don't care; I'd risk it again just to keep an eye on what's going on over there.

I may be pathetic, but there is something that I'm not; something that _that _boy and _that _girl over there are.

No one would ever call me stupid.

In the corner of the potions classroom, _that_ boy is leaning over his cauldron, red in the face from the heat emitting from it, flushed and bothered but laughing all the same. The girl next to him is flushed too; but not because she's hot. She's not even working at all.

She's leaning back on her stool, twirling her long blonde hair around her fingertips and curling it into ringlets with a smile. She's grinning at every word he says and sighing when he turns to face her pathetically; like someone asked by a Veela to go to the Yule Ball.

She's flushed because she's flirting; he works, she flirts.

_That_ girl is pathetic _and_ stupid.

_That_ boy on the other hand is ignorant, stupid, obnoxious, conceited, rude and terribly, terribly sexy.

I hate admitting that. Even more than I hate admitting no number of chapters in _Transfiguration Today: Edition Five_ will stop me from being horrid at that subject.

Professor Slughorn is examining the variety of potions that have been concocted around the classroom; despite the fact that we were all supposed to brew the same one the results are remarkably different.

Sirius' potion looks like brown porridge with bits of beazle stuck in it, which is amusing because beazle wasn't an ingredient given today. Severus Snape and I; on the other hand, have a brilliant green potion which smells of apples and cherry blossom.

Severus-bloody-Snape. I have to share my glory with The-Devil-Incarnate.

_That _girl has done so little that they're not even finished yet; and all eyes are on them. My eyes are on them; and because I'm not as stupid as _that _girl I realise the metaphor for their colour is matching me just as well at the moment.

I would blame him for being so careless. I want to _crucio _him like a death eater just for being a thrill-of-the-chase boy who has completed, ticked and discarded the Lily-snog. But I forgot to say yes.

All those times _that_ boy has asked and I've hit him in various places; I was saying a two letter word. I should have, at some point, reminded myself that I really wanted to say a three letter one.

Letters are stupid.

Idiotically, at this current moment, I find myself making an unbreakable vow with myself (which is technically impossible but no one, not even me, wants to face the wrath of Lily Evans who has been screwed over).

If he ever asks again, I must respond with that three letter word or so help me god I will make myself snog Peter Pettigrew. That is almost unthinkable because Peter is probably contagious with numerous strains of idiocy and foolishness.

Peter Pettigrew is definitely stupid.

* * *

To be honest; Professor Dromatious has made a huge mistake. He paired Peter and I for disarming and blocking practise.

This in itself is an error.

I've watched _that_ girl and _that_ boy flirt and banter and twirl each other's hair all day long and it's wearing thin on me.

I'm flushed with irritation (I can just tell my cheeks look as red as my hair) and my hair itself is standing on its end with pent up negativity that is about to be unleashed on Peter in a matter of minutes.

To be honest I feel a little bad. He's looking a bit flustered at the moment; babbling on about some story I don't particularly care for, and showering me in compliments which I suppose is aimed at making me go easy on him. Little does he know; that his mindless chatter is only increasing my agitation.

Merlin, I wish I was put with another partner.

I'm tearing at my hair in unison with her stupid hair twirls and glaring absentmindedly at the nearest human being; which just happens to be Potter. He can't see me because he's too engrossed in watching her hair fiddle and his hand reaches the back of his head instinctively.

The next thing I know Peter is scrambling up to the Professors desk and explaining hurriedly that he thinks he is going to be sick. Dromatious sighs heavily and excuses him with a wave of his wrinkled hand and motions Potter to switch partners.

_That_ boy doesn't hear this of course; he's still laughing stupidly at _that_ girl but after a sharp yell from the professor, who is practically next to his ear, and ten points from Gryffindor he shuffles along to face me.

He catches my eye for the first time in one day and backs away in alarm.

Scared Potter?

'Alright Evans?' he murmurs a little too quietly to be nonchalant.

'Never better' I spit, teeth clenched in a jaw lock like a gobstopper has glued them together. It's a feat just to get the words out actually.

At that moment Dromatious instructs us to begin disarming and blocking.

He orders wands at the ready and counts down. I feel like a bundle of fireworks is about to spontaneously combust inside me.

Usually, my reflexes are much slower than Potter's, but today he falters a little and my frustration brings mine to lightening speed. As Dromatious calls 'one' I'm already halfway through the incantation.

Potter flies through the air, his wand circling above my head and it lands beside me with a clatter. I kick it over to him impatiently, feeling the class' wary gaze fall on me. No one else is disarming; they're waiting to see his response.

Dromatious begins to congratulate me on my successful disarm before Potter springs back up, hazel eyes blazing and eyebrows furrowed so far down his eyes they practically reach his cheekbones.

I've never pissed off Potter this much.

I must be stupid.

'Furnunculus' he yells; slashing his wand towards me, intending to cover me in a million nasty boils.

But again; for some reason, I have suddenly acquired amazing reflexes and, impressing and depriving the class of a screaming, mental female covered in oversized pimples, I neatly block the curse.

He's glaring more intently now; shooting stinging jinxes all over my body. I'm too slow to block these so I hop on the spot slightly when one hits me and swerve to the side to avoid them while casting numerous shielding charms.

Dromatious is yelling that we were only supposed to disarm and block; but he can't risk trying to sedate us without the other attempting Avada Kedavra.

'Incarcerous!'

'Impedimenta!'

Thankfully the ropes that shoot out of his wand are deflected by my jinx, sending him sprawling to the floor; frustrated and looking homicidal.

It's at that moment that Sirius breaks into laughter and casually walks over to James, picking him up by the back of his robes and laughing off the incident with a glance in my direction and a mention of 'severe PMS.'

Potters eyes lighten a little and he forces out a bark of laughter, messing up his hair at the back with his left hand in frustration.

Dromatious has never looked so pleased with Sirius in his life.

Apparently the crisis is averted.

* * *

It turns out the crisis is not averted when I return to my bedroom later that evening to find that a host of spiders have taken up residency there.

Potter of course, puts it down to complete chance, but I send a pack of angry birds flying at his face for good measure before he admits to putting them there.

I try every conceivable method possible to get him to go up there and get rid of them but he won't budge; complaining that I have embarrassed him too much in one day and he needs to recoup his ego before any kind of extermination work can be done.

I huff and puff and almost blow the common room roof off, but I can't quite seem to get angry enough for him; so I sit down begrudgingly on the couch and begin to read the Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson plan scheduled for tomorrow.

Of course it's on werewolves.

I give Potter approximately ten more minutes to avoid trying to annoy or talk to me; he lasts seven before asking what I am doing despite the fact that it is irritatingly plain.

'Reading' I mutter with little enthusiasm and then add; 'go clean out my room's infestation.'

'What are you reading?' he asks, ignoring my comment, jumping on the couch arm and peering over my shoulder in curiosity.

When he sees the title he looks at me a little smugly, like he knows everything about werewolves, and jumps of the couch onto the adjacent arm chair, grinning at me.

'What would you like to know about werewolves Lily, love?' he smiles conceitedly, resting his arms on the back of the chair.

'Nothing from you Potter, that's why I'm _reading_' I emphasise, glowering at him and motioning to the open book resting in my hand.

'Werewolves are extraordinarily complex creatures' he remarks pensively, almost lost in his own thoughts before adding, 'they mate for life' with a suggestive wink.

I look up and hope to pierce him open with the intensity of my glare. I wish the ground would unexpectedly split down the middle and let the depths of hell swallow him whole.

'It's comforting to know that you're not a werewolf Potter; mating for life is way out of character for you.' I manage to reply, biting down on my own lip in an attempt to make it sound nonchalant and not insanely jealous.

'Well actually...' he begins but I'm sick of my own little facade so I cut him off.

'There's no way you could tell me you could commit for a day Potter; the way you flirted with _that_ girl all day after snogging _me._'

I revel in my own insanity for a bit because I truly can't believe that those words just came out of my mouth. Neither can Potter.

'She was a bit shameless wasn't she?' he replies slowly, aurally tiptoeing around the hormonal girl on the couch.

I swallow dryly with guilt as he cuts to the chase.

'Lily, you weren't...you know?' he questions vaguely. 'You're not...well...are you?'

I know what he's getting at but I don't want to answer properly so some kind of sarcastic answer escapes my lips instead.

'Pregnant?' I roll my eyes for theatrical effect before adding, 'I don't know who gave you the birds and the bees Potter but that's not possible.'

'You know I wasn't talking about that Lily.' He sighs, almost serious for the first moment in his life.

He tries again because I'm utterly silent; suddenly finding the ground very interesting.

'Lily, I was under the impression that you didn't want...' he begins without finishing; I figure I've already let myself go too much to hold back now.

'I do want' I cut in, catching him off guard and filling his hazel eyes with a strange mixture of confusion and excitement.

'But wanting is irrelevant Potter' I sigh heavily, 'you evidently have too much fun with the field.'

He breaks into one of those miraculously brilliant smiles which start at the middle of his cherry coloured lips and spread out evenly and slowly to the corners of his mouth. His forehead softens in relaxation and his cheeks tighten visibly creating little dimples near the corners of his lips.

'You're so stupid sometimes Lily.'

I already know it's impossible for me to be stupid so I stare at him blankly.

'I might blatantly flirt with other girls to get your attention; but I've never, and probably will never feel the same way with _that_ girl, or any other girl, the way I do with you Lily.' He grins, breathtakingly.

'Sirius would kill you if he heard you talking about feelings' I mutter, taken aback by his proclamation.

'If you're not convinced about the 'mating for life' sentiment I have in regards to you Lily, I could propose right here' he offers, shifting his weight onto his toes as if he's about to get down on one knee.

Ridiculous as that statement is, I most definitely wouldn't put it past him. Then I remember with a sick feeling in my stomach the unbreakable vow I made with myself earlier. If he proposes I must say a three letter word, not a two letter one.

I am so unprepared for this.

'Wow' I murmur; my face looking alarmed. Sure, it's a three letter word, just not the right one.

He grins stupidly. 'Sorry Lily; don't have a ring on me so it will have to wait.'

I secretly sigh in relief.

He drinks in my face in confusion.

'Lily, you're never going to say yes are you?' he questions lightly; but I can feel there is a certain depth in the query, a certain expectation.

'To marry you?' I manage to stutter nervously.

'Not necessarily' he murmurs dejectedly, staring at his black school shoes intently.

'Why don't you ask me then?'

It was a stupid question to ask because now he's gotten all confused. Boys are really idiotic sometimes; can't take a hint to save their life and can't take advantage of a situation properly unless it potentially involves sex.

As a testament to this, Potter stares at me a little numbly and cocks his head in puzzlement.

He is so very stupid.

'Ask you what?'

'Whatever you want to know?'

'Oh.'

Surely he can remember it now; he's been asking me to go to Hogesmeade with him for just under six years.

'Lily?'

'Yes?'

'Will you go out with...' he trails off nervously before I smile encouragingly at him; 'me?'

Fearing the wrath of a screwed over Lily and the wetness and awkwardness of a kiss with Peter Pettigrew I manage to form my lips around that three letter word.

It escapes my lips with a little rush of excitement, the little tingle staying on my lips until he rushes over to me in exhilaration and hugs the life out of me.

Seriously Potter, you don't want to kill your new girlfriend.

_Girlfriend_.

I'm James Potter's new girlfriend; it is one of the most stupid things I've done.

* * *

REVIEW


	7. Distractions

**A/N:  
**Long, long, long chapter to make up for my 2 months of no updates!  
Chapter centred around the seven days of exams Lily has to endure with James induced distraction. To complete this I got my boyfriend (god, I love him) to give me seven words. They were:

**Married, Heels, Milk, Jump, Sock, Telephone** and **Bra** (he's such a boy).

* * *

Defence Against the Dark Arts

Exam period; also known as the most stressful period of Lily Evans' life is upon me; and despite feeling overly stressed and anxious, my emotions currently could only be perfectly described as **pretty pissed off.**

It's really all James' fault (since when is it never); he has this knack, an indescribable knack for absolutely throwing me off everything I'm supposed to be concentrating on. He has this formula he swears by, which is, in essence, if one does no work, then they will pass all their NEWTS with flying colours. Unfortunately, that only seems to work for one billionth percent of the population; i.e. only him and Sirius Black. But of course that doesn't stop him trying his hardest to distract everyone else dutifully trying to pack as much information into their heads as possible.

Don't get me wrong; it would be foolish of anyone to suggest that Dumbledore is any way, shape or form losing his marbles. But allocating a private common room for Head Boy and Girl was always going to end in disaster if one of them just happened to be an ignorant twat.

Take right now for example: James is currently gallivanting around with a pair of black stiletto heels on. Usually I would find this amusing (albeit a little strange to see your boyfriend getting more enjoyment out of your footwear than you do), but when you're stressed and worried and _out of your freaking mind_ it becomes a little less humorous.

(As well as just a tiny, tiny part of me worries that he's going to break an ankle).

It's only a tiny, tiny bit amusing also because he is James Potter and this is _exactly_ the kind of thing he would do.

'Lily' he calls impatiently.

Now, I know that all he really wants is a spot of attention, but I'm **not** going to give it to him, because that would mean recognising his distraction and encouraging his stupid, _stupid_ behaviour. So I childishly flick my hair over my shoulder for effect and put all my effort into concentrating on the Defence against the Dark Arts textbook lying in front of me. Of course I'm not taking any words in whatsoever, and I have to read the same paragraph five times to make any sense out of it, but at least it's mildly satisfying to know that I've managed to stay somewhat focused in the face of a very convincing Lady James.

'Lillllllyyyyyyy' he drags out, emphasising the 'y' in the whiniest voice he can muster.

But again I am determined to ignore him, turning the page with such aggravation that it almost rips out cleanly.

Then I feel something hit my head hard and rebound off my skull with a dull thud. I feel the frustration and irritation swell like a tsunami within me as I hear him try to suppress his laughter behind a well placed hand.

Of course he would resort to throwing shoes; what else did I expect?

I lunge.

* * *

Care of Magical Creatures

'Lily!' he exclaims, hopping around precariously on the bathroom tiles with nothing but a towel tied around his waist.

This is the second day of constant distraction that I have been subjected to, and it's wearing very, _very_ thin. I never really thought I'd get all that sick of hearing him call me by my first name instead of 'Evans' (which I had only been subjected to for the last six years of my school life), but at the moment I would rather be living with a Blast Ended Skrewt.

At least it wouldn't be able to pronounce 'Lily.'

I sigh dramatically; as if this was supposed to answer his pleas with a straightforward 'please go away James.'

'Lily, help!' he pleads, now balancing against the bathroom door frame with his right hand clutched around his right ankle, as his left hand holds onto the wood for support. He would look almost comical if it weren't for the almost nakedness factor which, disgustingly, almost sends me to a puddle of Lily goo on the floor.

He jumps pathetically on one foot, shifting his position slightly against the door frame in an unsuccessful attempt to reach for the sock that lies pathetically on the ground.

'You're a wizard James,' I mutter in what I hope to be a monotonous tone.

'So?'

'Summon it!'

'Can't; my wand's on the table next to you,' he indicates by nodding his head in the direction of the pathetic piece of wood.

'Just put your foot down James.'

'It's cold!'

'So?'

'I can't!'

'Why?'

'Then I would lose.'

'So?' I say, crinkling up my forehead and throwing my hands up to indicate the fact that no one else was present.

'The cold floor is lava Lily, and cannot be touched without adequate foot protection.'

'Lava's hot stupid.'

'I can't touch it Lily.'

'You can't be serious.'

'Help me Lily!'

'Are you five years old?'

'You're the one going out with me, cradle snatcher,' he smirks infuriatingly.

'You asked me out and I never said that...oh forget it,' I snap, completely exasperated by the situation, dragging my feet over the cold linoleum to reach for the sock.

Bending down to reach the sock, just too far for him to reach from the door frame, I grasp the cotton just as I realise what an idiot I've been.

As I snap upright again, James stands straight to attention from his relaxed position, eyes guilty and face cracking into an incriminating smile. He smirks. He _smirks_. What kind of respectful boy tricks you into bending over to pick up their belongings so they can check out your –

'Lily you have a very nice -,' he begins, laughter escaping his pursed lips, before I shoot him a Voldemort inspired death glare.

'I was going to say back!' he smirk-giggles.

'You're never getting this sock back,' I spit threateningly, in a threat that will make an absolute _fucking_ world of difference.

'Lily' he grins, putting his foot down onto the lava-cold ground, 'how did you think I got the first one on without touching the floor?'

* * *

Potions

'Lily, what's a telephone?'

'A muggle device used to contact someone in another location.'

'Is it like a howler?'

'No.'

'Lily, what does a telephone look like?'

'A plastic stick with holes, on one end you put to your ear, the other you put to your mouth to speak.'

'Like a straw?'

'No James.'

'Then where does the sound come from?'

'Wires in the little box the phone is connected to.'

'Where do the wires go?'

'I don't know.'

'Why?'

'Because I'm not an electrician.'

'What's an electrician?'

'The person that does the wiring.'

'What sound does it make?'

'It rings'

'Like how?'

'Shut up James.'

'But how?'

'Shut up James.'

'Like a bell?'

'Shut up James.'

'Or ambulance siren?'

'Shut up James.'

'Ring Riiiiinnnng'

'Beep, beep, beep.'

'What does that mean?'

'That means I've hung up on you.'

'What does that mean?'

'It means I've put down the phone to **do my potions study**.'

'But how do the wires know you've stopped talking?'

'Go and do your muggle studies revision somewhere else James.'

'Like where?'

'Somewhere that's not here.'

'Lily?'

'...'

'I don't do muggle studies.'

* * *

Transfiguration

If, by some remotely unlikely chance James had not been a complete pest for the last three days and my extreme frustration and irritation had just been a figment of my overactive imagination, today was different. Today James was absolutely feral.

He'd tried to distract me over fifteen times in as many minutes, running around helplessly in the common room like a caged bird with nowhere to land.

Although I'd banished him from the dormitory by changing the password as soon as he'd stepped foot out the door, he'd managed to weasel his way back in. McGonagall explained to me that she absolutely couldn't stand his nonchalant attitude three hours before the transfiguration exam, and had thus banned him from any area of the castle that was not here. She explained that as head girl, I had 'certain responsibilities for keeping said students _out of her hair.'_

My pleas for my sanity obviously went unheard.

Thus, James was flapping about the common room, lifting furniture, scampering around the bathroom knocking over toothbrushes, hairbrushes, quills, ink and any other messy item he could find.

He'd sung every song he'd probably ever been taught at the top of his lungs, pretended to have a heart aneurism, dressed up in my clothes, thrown toilet paper over the common room, snuck up on me and yelled 'Dementor!' so many times I didn't even flinch and eaten all the cake he had stolen from the kitchens the preceding night.

He still had one hour to go.

Being absolutely rubbish at transfiguration and cursing Merlin for not allowing me to take my beloved textbook into the exam was leaving me with highly strung nerves.

So all I want to do at this current moment was tie a sackful of rocks to myself, get a firm grip on his ankle and jump of the top of the astronomy tower.

That was _before_ he started going to through my underwear drawer.

Two seconds later he's standing outside my dormitory door, staring down the stairs at me with my bra on. My _bra._ Stuffed with socks.

I can't help it. It's the stress.

I burst into tears.

* * *

Charms

No matter what Potter does to me today, nothing can affect me. Charms is my best subject aside from potions, I don't need to cram or practically try to eat the book into my brain, I've got this.

Although despite this he's actually being relatively tolerable today (of all days), probably because he still feels bad about the bra incident (which shall never be mentioned again), in which one of my favourites was completely ruined with mascara stains when he tried to mop up my tears with it.

I'd never even had _a_ bra, much less _my _bra so close to my face before.

I notice when James gets bored he just eats; and because he's trying so hard (literally I can see the concentration on his face), to be non-irritating, he's practically become a garbage can.

This would normally be completely accessible given his cloak, his affinity for 'marauding' or whatever it is marauders do and his obscenely suspicious knowledge of the ins and outs of Hogwarts' secret and not so secret passageways.

However McGonagall has strictly forbade me to let him out of my sight (given the incident yesterday in which I banished him from the common room and he found his way out to the quidditch pitch twenty minutes before the commencement of the exam). If she thought he wrecked her nerves...

There's little left in the tiny compartment, charmed with a cooling spell in which we can keep milk and dairy due to this habit of overeating (yet retaining about one percent body fat), and all that seems accessible are three one litre cartons of plain milk.

The abundance of milk (or 'the milk issue' as James prefers to name it), is due to the fact that neither of us particularly like milk. It's also due to James being 'impartial to milk' as he calls it or 'lactose intolerant' as I call it. James says he would prefer not to limit himself out of any food group.

Milk is not a food group but we'll leave it at that.

So the three cartons of milk being eyed off by James currently are not only slightly 'impartial' to his stomach, but one is a solid five days past it's use by date.

There's nothing really I can do to stop him drinking all three litres. It's definitely not because I want to teach him a lesson, or see him admit he was wrong for once.

It's only around fifteen minutes later that the milk is seen again. If the way to a boy's heart is through his stomach, I don't think the milk is getting a lot of love at the moment.

* * *

Herbology

A bright light is fanning over my eyelids, harsh and bright and utterly _wrong._

Part of my rousing brain registers that it is, in fact, far too early for any kind of light to be seen at all, and thus, sleep was the logical answer to the question.

But the light is too bright.

As that thought flickers through my cerebral cortex another jumps in with alarm. There's something on the bed next to me; it's heavy, warm, breathing.

_Oh Merlin it's alive._

An arms thuds across my stomach as the _thing_ rolls over and tickles my ear with its warm breath.

Keeping my eyes firmly closed, my subconscious tells me that logically, if I can't see it, if I don't acknowledge it, it clearly cannot see me or does not exist.

But it's still breathing in my ear.

It's right at that moment that the heavy, warm thing decides to plant a wet kiss right on my cheek. It's more of a lick really.

'I hate you James.'

'Oh _princess,_ you're so gorgeous in the morning,' a foreign voice drawls.

I literally jump twenty feet in the air, land awkwardly on my feet, rolling my ankle and squealing in pain.

James collapses against the far wall with laughter. Sirius props himself up, leans into his shoulder and smirks across the bed.

'Your morning breath is atrocious by the way,' he adds.

* * *

History of Magic

'I think I'm going to marry you.'

'Sorry?'

'I think I'm going to marry you.'

'I know, I heard you, I just thought you might have wanted to take the opportunity to let that absolutely absurd notion go.'

'Mm no, I'm definitely going to marry you.'

'Who says I want to marry you?'

'Oh you will.'

'No I won't.'

'Yes you will.'

'Will not.'

'Will too.'

'Will n-

'Will too, will too, will too.'

'You're infuriating.'

'You're gorgeous.'

'I might marry you if you shut up for just one second.'

'You'll marry me anyway.'

'I'd rather marry Hagrid.'

'Bet you'd love all the facial hair.'

'Quite appealing actually, a lot more masculine than you who seems to be able to grow just about none.'

'But can you imagine all that facial hair down –'

'I don't think you want to finish that sentence.'

'No worries, I know I'm ruggedly handsome anyway.'

'Just ask you.'

'Mm stroke that – '

'What the hell is wrong with you?'

'I was going to say ego!'

'...'

'I promise!'

'...'

'Anyway after we get married...'

'We're never getting married.'

'...We can have like two kids, no three kids...'

'Never, ever.'

'...and they can all be ruggedly handsome and quidditch heroes and...'

'Not for all the chocolate frogs in the world.'

'...and they'd all be boys of course, there's no way we're having girls...'

'I'd rather marry Dumbledore.'

'...they're to whiney and complain about clothes and...Hey! I always thought you had a thing for younger guys...'

'Mm, no much more into the old ones.'

'But I'm younger than you!'

'Precisely.'

'But I have so much more to offer being young and vibrant and dashing –'

'...as well as naive, hapless and so unsatisfactory. Not to mention the fact that you just get plain annoying after the first ten years when all I want to do is settle down into a nice nursing home and a rocking chair and you're still trying to run marathons.'

'Lily.'

'James.'

'Stop distracting me.'


	8. Noticing

Peter Pan isn't mine. Unfortunately neither is Harry Potter.

* * *

Sometimes when I get the time to sit back and look around me (usually within the constant state of disarray that is my apartment), I notice something about James Potter.

It's not that he's a deliberately annoying prat, which I've found constitutes giving me his 'undivided attention.' It's not that he puts himself in unnecessary danger for no known reason. It's not that he has an overwhelmingly overdeveloped sense of slapstick humour, which I'm told is simply an occupational hazard of going out with a marauder. It's not even that he tends to mess up the back of his hair when he's nervous or scared, predominantly of me, and how it never seems to lay flat, even if you put seven tonnes of gel in it.

I noticed all these things months, or even years ago.

It's only now that time has progressed (for most normal people anyway), and maturity has kicked in as a consequence of leaving school (another assumption of normality), that I realise something is horribly wrong. Or so it seems.

James Potter refuses to grow up.

It's a trait known to many as 'Peter Pan', although it frequents in fairytales rather than real life. I'm afraid I just happen to be one of the known people alive managing not one, but two Peter Pans.

(Sirius Black, of course, is another Peter Pan, which, for all intents and purposes seems to be living here and hence, has to be dealt with).

The most common symptom of Peter Pan appears to be the appreciation of humour far too juvenile to be normal. This would seem to include jokes about bodily functions, bodily fluid and the human body in general.

This trait also includes the procurement of devices to cause inconvenience for people which, apparently, is also hilarious. They could lay a banana peel on the ground for one to slip on and find this amusing (which is not to say that this hasn't actually occurred – under 'Lily Interrogation' it was acknowledged that Sirius had actually learnt this technique of a muggle television show).

Then there's the actually precarious stunts (which slightly go hand in hand with the notion of putting one's self in unnecessary danger), which have in the past, included throwing kettles to demonstrate the notion of 'hot potato', charming the toaster to jump the toast onto plates (ending in burning toast acting as flaming missiles) and various other pranks-gone-wrong which started off as a-really-good-idea.

The most notable of symptoms however is the persistent desire to stay the same despite desperate pleas to the contrary from people who actually matter; aka me (Remus would also like to note that he is, in fact, in my boat also).

At this current moment James and Sirius are trying to paint the apartment. The very fact that Sirius is engaged in any sort of 'Do It Yourself' project is, in itself, alarming. Alarming not only because Sirius can generally not be trusted to carry out any plan efficiently and effectively if it does not involve either a) creating mayhem or b) Filch the caretaker, but also that he has subconsciously noted that this apartment is, in some way, his.

If there's one thing a concerned relative or friend of a Peter Pan can do for the wellbeing of their loved one, it is to keep them away from other Peter Pans. That's why Sirius could hardly be considered one of my most loved of James' friends.

Speaking of friends, where the hell was Peter these days?

(Peter Pettigrew that is, not Peter Pan, although the two did share a lot more characteristics than just initials – small stature and immaturity were just two examples).

Regarding the paintwork, the apartment is currently in a state of more disarray than ever before. James and Sirius had initially decided that they would paint it like muggles, the 'manly way' (otherwise known as incredibly inefficient way). When they had grown bored of this concept (which is yet another of the Peter Pan virus' symptoms), they had decided that throwing paint was the most efficient way of painting.

When I had arrived home to find the apartment spattered in red paint, they changed tactics again. This was predominantly due to the fact that I absolutely nutted it in regards to the colour more than just the inefficiency and mess they had created – to be honest, I had enough red on me as it was. I was rather hoping that I would finally be rid of red walls, red beds, red sheets, red couches and red hangings after I had left Hogwarts (as much as I did love Gryffindor it had a rather taxing colour scheme).

So now the apartment is half red and half cream, with paint spattered all over the carpet and some furniture the two Peter Pans had forgotten to cover. It's going to take some intense cleaning charms to remove it.

Sitting on an overturned box, sipping black tea and contemplating the perils of the Peter Pan virus has made me rather woozy and disorientated. It's almost like dozing in and out of a History of Magic lesson, only to realise your unfocussed gaze has been fixed on someone rather creepily for the last half hour and they're muttering under their breath and looking utterly bemused.

(To be honest this only ever happened to James, but to be fair he always sat in the row in front of me).

Being disorientated also leads to a bit of a shock reaction when someone snaps you out of it, which is probably why I screamed at James when he bent down to give me a comforting hug.

(Either that or it was because he was unwittingly about to cover me in more of my favourite colour).

Of course, after this little outburst, he looks at me rather strangely, to which I mutter 'you have painty hands' and shuffle a little awkwardly to the left.

Being a Peter Pan he laughs loudly and flicks some paint onto my cheek in good humour, to which I roll my eyes and huff, while attempting to smother a smile.

If I'm completely honest with myself, there's times where Peter Pan-ism isn't so bad. Like how the virus seems to make people a little more resilient. James rarely gets hurt or upset when I get into small and contained temper tantrums (_always_ small and contained). James brushes off accidents with a smile (which may or may not have been caused by me), he makes the world seem a little less dark, and a little bit brighter despite the fact that both our jobs take us away for nights at a time into situations in which either of us could easily be...

...well we could never come back from.

Peter Pans can brush away tears easily, just as easily as they can make you laugh, and smile and love them all that much more.

James Potter might be immature and ridden with red paint, but I still find him funny. He might be riddled with Peter Pan-ism just as Sirius is ridden with very-good-ideas, but I still crack into a smile every time he catches my gaze. He might just be the most irritating and annoying human being ever to have walked this earth, but I would still struggle to get by without him.

When I sit back and watch everything going on around me in the messy and overturned apartment I can really only notice one thing about James Potter; I love him.


	9. Manticores

For Blueskies13 who just loves dialogue :)

* * *

I once heard someone say that redheads have bad tempers.

I seriously don't understand how the colour tone of your hair can determine your personality, but I would seriously disagree with them. Most redheads, I think you would find, are no exception to every other normal person, very much able to keep their temper under check if they're not in _extenuating circumstances._

(The above mentioned generalization could have been based on Molly Prewett, who, despite being a very tolerable person has a _very_ quick temper; lord knows how Arthur puts up with it).

_Some people_ including Sirius Black, will tell you that I have a very short temper, but if you believed that for once second I would challenge you to endure his presence just for one day and see how mad you turn out.

Currently, I would consider myself to be under extenuating circumstances, and thus, any angry outburst is really not my fault. Neither should it be used against me as an explanation for my hair colour which, I can assure you, is most definitely a product of bad genetics since everyone in my family once had red hair, aside from Petunia. Petunia, coincidently, is actually a manticore in disguise, so I suppose that she doesn't really count.

These extenuatingcircumstances are currently wearing very thin, which is funny because being in a very expensive restaurant in the middle of London usually produces a very different reaction from me. Usually, I would be fretting about accidently dropping food or drink on the pristine table clothes or sneezing accidently and getting disapproving glares from every other table. Incidentally, I am still concerned about such things, but since we sat down something else has been on my mind entirely.

You see, it's very hard to have a boyfriend like James. No one could seriously say that he is unattractive in any way, despite what I may or may not have tried to convince myself before sixth year. Of course I don't love him merely because he looks good hanging off my shoulder, but I'll admit, he's definitely...easy on the eye.

(Unfortunately, you can never actually tell him this, not unless you want him to be able to fit through doors).

People may consider me abnormal for not considering James' looks to be a positive factor, but see, it just attracts too much attention, and although I find it absurd that people consider my temper to be short, I would have to agree with them if they mentioned anything about a _slightly_ over-the-top jealous streak.

The hostess, who guided us into the restaurant we are currently seated at, has been _very _attentive. So attentive in fact, that it has become somewhat bloody frustrating, and I somewhat want to whip my wand out in the presence of fifty muggles just to have the pleasure of stupefying her to within an inch of her life.

I don't feel exceptionally horrible about this sentiment, because I think if she knew about magic or was able to produce it, she would gladly do the same thing to me. Her attitude towards my general existence indicates she would happily ignore the fact that James is actually seated with another female who is probably his girlfriend, and that she should _probably_ stop attempting to blatantly flirt with him and/or attempting to engage in eye sex every chance she gets.

James is, of course, very disinclined to appear rude, and so he has been perfectly polite, however I wish he would just tell her to sod off and be done with it. I would tell her myself but since she doesn't recognise I'm even present that's become a little problematic.

It's really not his fault, and I feel a little bad for glaring at him every time she comes over to insist that she could be of more service to him, but since we've just finished our main course, these extenuating circumstances have been steadily building my frustration for well over an hour and I'm really on the verge of either an angry explosion or tears. I haven't quite decided which one yet.

'Lily?' he questions slowly, staring at me quite intensely. It's at this moment I realise I've completely zoned out for around ten minutes just thinking about ways in which to subtly murder my newfound enemy.

'Mm, sorry' I mumble, chewing my lip up in frustration.

'What are you thinking about?'

'Things.'

'Like what?'

'Do you think Petunia could be half manticore?'

'I would say more of a chimera, they're more dangerous.'

'Mm.'

A silence falls over us for about a minute before he feels inclined to break it again. To be honest I'd rather stay silent until we left, if my mouth is tight shut I can't accidently start yelling.

'Are you alright Lily?'

To be honest I could ask the same of him. James has been mighty polite and friendly the entire night, but he's been a little different to his usual enthusiastic, excitable self. He's done less talking of quidditch, broomsticks and matches than he's ever done within an hour and a half and he's also fixed his tie about seven hundred times.

If I didn't know him better I'd say he was either mighty nervous or very distracted. If it's distracted I'm not sure I want to know what's on his mind, because if it's got anything to do with this hostess I probably will scream.

'Any chance you want to take a look at the dessert menu sir?' she breathes sweetly, sweeping up to the table infuriatingly and turning decisively to face James, completely blocking me out.

'I think we'd rather just get the bill' I mutter, jaw clenched as she sighs, still facing away from me and addresses James with an exceedingly polite 'certainly Mr. Potter.'

James' eyes sweep over me as soon as she leaves fleetingly, and then look down at his lap as he swallows dryly. Something is definitely up.

'You don't like it here?' he asks dejectedly, as if it was his fault my night has been an utter disaster.

It's just about then that I feel like a horrible person. This place will probably cost a fortune, and no matter how many times I insist on at least contributing to a fraction of the cost, he will eventually persuade me to let him pick it up. He's also struggling with something and just the tone of his voice makes me want to melt a little and acknowledge that for once in his life, he has experienced me being irritated with someone else that is not him.

(I still want to get out of here before James' fan club finds another way to spend more time with him).

'Its fine, I'm just tired.'

'I'm sorry if I upset you' he murmurs, biting his bottom lip, eyes fixed on his lap as one hand reaches up to fix whatever is in his inside pocket.

This is highly suspicious behaviour by all accounts, as James never apologises for anything unless it's blaringly obvious he's at fault, or he's absolutely desperate to get my forgiveness.

Before I can subject him to interrogation the bill arrives, thankfully by a different waitress, and after a few minutes of the obligatory argument he pays, with a generous tip (only adding to my fantastic mood), and we promptly leave.

It's very cold outside, even with a thick coat on, and I desperately want to apparate out of here as fast as possible, but James is lingering a little. He's still looking a little peaky, but has at least stopped fiddling with his tie as much and is trying to locate something else within his coat pocket.

When he finally finishes being preoccupied with his clothing, I take his arm and march him into the closest alleyway.

'Where are we going Lily?' he questions, as if it were not the most obvious thing in the world. That it was not clear we were heading straight back to the comfort of the apartment, without having to worry about overly flirtatious hostesses or expensive restaurants.

'Home, James.'

(Definitely not sparing any horses).

'Oh' he mutters, still chewing his bottom lip.

'Are you okay James, you're acting awfully odd' I ask, putting one finger under his chin to lift it up. His face is pale in the light of the dim streetlight, and his forehead, moving my hand up to touch it, is clammy.

'I'm okay' he murmurs, shrugging my hand off and looking down at his hands. 'I, um,' he starts uneasily, 'I, actually wanted to...well, I actually wanted to know if, I wanted to ask you something' he continues, stumbling over his words. I mentally calculate the amount of standard drinks he's consumed tonight. None.

Very odd.

'It'sokaythoughmaybeanothertime' he rushes, becoming completely incomprehensible.

'Are you going to ask me out again?' I tease, 'because you know what the answer to that is.'

He cracks a weak smile and shakes his head silently.

'What is it then?' I press, trying to uncover what exactly has made James so un-James-y.

'Nothing. Let's go home shall we?' he covers, taking my arm gently.

I pull back decisively. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing Lily, I'm just tired.'

'You can't use my own excuse against me!'

'So something was wrong in the restaurant? Did I make a bad choice? You didn't like it did you, I'm really sorry Lily I thought-'

'Will you listen to yourself?' I bite, completely frustrated with his inability to act normally, 'You're the biggest brat when it comes to apologies and you're handing them out for free!'

'Is it so suspicious to try and make you happy?' he frowns, brows knotting together.

'No, but you're being very strange today James. You do look awfully nervous which only adds to the suspicion.'

'Do I have to apologise for that too?'

'Well do you have something to apologise for?'

'What is that supposed to mean!'

'Did you plan to take me out to dinner in the most expensive restaurant in London to make up for something?'

'Lily I would never-'

'Well you're acting like there was some ulterior motive.'

'Lily, you're being completely absurd!'

'Come on James, if you want to apologise you may as well man up and tell me what you did because your expensive dinner date didn't seem to work very well.'

'Oh my god Lily, stop it!' he yells, gritting his teeth angrily and pulling at his hair.

'Who was it James?'

'Jesus Lily, what kind of a person do you think I am?'

I stop because he's looking positively murderous and given his aptitude at hexing I'm not sure I want to take it any further.

'I would never, ever, even consider being unfaithful to you Lily, although I'm so happy that you seem to have such high expectations of me' he continues, running his hands repeatedly though his hair to signify his frustration.

'Well I-'

'No listen. I'm sorry that I was acting completely irrational tonight, and that maybe I picked the wrong location for you. But this is not something I'm exceptionally practised in.

'However, if you're actually being serious about me being with some other..._person_, then you're completely mad. Did you really think I'd take _you _for granted? Someone I've been desperately trying to impress since I was about twelve years old?'

'Well then why would you bother wining and dining me James? We've been together for a year; surely you don't feel you have to impress me now.'

'Of course I do, I have to keep you don't I?' he smiled weakly, trying to lighten the mood.

'Don't be a prat, you _know_ how this looks.'

'Who _cares_ how this looks Lily!' he exclaimed, exasperation rising in him again, 'I was simply trying to enjoy a night with my girlfriend!'

'Or trying to buy forgiveness' I mutter darkly, turning away from him sharply, 'I think I'm going home now.'

'For heaven's sake Lily!' he yells, frustration clear in his tone as he steps towards me purposefully, 'I wasn't trying to apologise to you, I was planning on proposing!'

Silence ensues as I stand there with my mouth slightly open, a very attractive position I'm sure, as he drops a small velvet box into my hand from his inside pocket.

'So sorry if I was being _odd_' he continues heatedly, 'but I've never really done this before and I know there's a high chance of you saying no, because you've always said no, god knows how I got you to go out with me in the first place.

'I know we're so young and only just out of school, and not even really secure in a real profession yet but it's too dangerous even living these days to consider putting anything off for any longer.

'We have to _live_ Lily, life's probably going to be too short for you and I to waste it and forget about important things like this because it's not traditional or conventional, because when it comes down to it I know I love you Lily and no one else is ever going to make me tick like you do. No one else is ever going to make me laugh like you can, or just, I don't know, complete me like you do. There's no way anyone else could make me sound this pathetic or mushy, or forget about quidditch for _hours_ on end.

'I wasn't sure how you were going to take this because we've never really talked about it before, and judging by your expression you've never really thought about it before, and given your recent accusations you probably don't even trust me enough to want to...well you know.

'But now I've at least put it out there, even if it was a bit in the heat of the moment and I might have shocked you a bit, and you don't have to answer now or any time soon if you don't want to, and I'll understand if you feel rushed and I don't want to pressure you –'

It was sweet, it really was and I was a bit shocked so I let the aimless (however very lovely) rambling go on for a few more minutes before I just had to put him out of his misery. Because yes, I do love James however inconvenient it may be when he attracts the attention of annoying hostesses and makes himself appear, very unintentionally, guilty. Also, no matter how irrational it may be to agree to marry someone when you're barely eighteen, I don't think I could have ever given up on James, he was just a little too addictive and lovable.

'This is lovely' I murmur, turning the ring over in my hand.

'Err, I know' he fidgets, obviously caught off guard at my seemingly random comment in the middle of his monologue, 'I wasn't sure if you liked the princess cut, but I really thought it would look nice on you.'

'I was talking about you proposing silly' I smile, 'the ring is beautiful, but if I was going to marry you I would hope you would consider it to be about more than just a few diamonds.'

'Oh.'

'Of course an alleyway probably isn't the most conventional place to ask someone to spend the rest of their life with you' I smirk, reaching out to touch his face.

The poor boy looks utterly confused.

'Lily I-'

'Please James, you've never really been all that conventional, and neither have I. In fact I'd probably rather you ask me out here than back in there with that hostess that looked like she wanted to eat your face off.'

'She did?'

'Prat.'

He breathes out deeply, probably expelling all the nervousness and smirks right back at me.

'Fine, I'll marry you' I start, feigning unhappiness, 'on one condition.'

He smiles brilliantly at my acceptance and wraps me up in long arms, twirling me around briefly.

'Anything for you Lily' he says breathlessly.

'We're not inviting a thousand of your closest friends to our wedding' I smirk, thinking of his grandiose plans which probably involved Sirius and him doing outrageous things, 'and I want to have at least one pet when we move in together _without Sirius_.'

I have to stress that last bit to make sure he gets the point.

'Can it be a dog?' he asks mysteriously, linking his arm into mine as we prepare to apparate.

'I was thinking more of a manticore' I tease, prodding him in the side with my unlinked hand.

'No manticores.'

'Fine. A chimera?'

'No chimeras. And before you even _ask_, no Petunias either' he smiles as we twist on the spot and evaporate into the cold, night air.


	10. Bump

Next chapter will be the last. Please don't abuse me, I made this chapter extra long in compensation :)

* * *

Condensation is one of life's most annoying things. Annoying because when you're trying to do life's impossible tasks like apply gel liner perfectly, pop a really stubborn pimple or scrutinize yourself completely in a mirror, it makes everything so much more irritating. It really does make you want to streak the bloody make up all down your face (because let's face it, symmetry is ruddy impossible with those things), make your face bleed in the name of 'popping at all costs' or let loose on the mirror itself, leading to very dire circumstances.

And because my face is currently two inches away from the mirror, staring into it, condensation is rising with my blood pressure.

(Which, currently, is rising at a bloody fast pace).

Swiping hurriedly at the annoying, misty stuff with my grey sweater, I study my face.

My mouth is hanging wide open, so far open someone could mistake me to be having dental surgery. My eyes are popping out of dark rimmed circles, shading in the atrocious night I'd had previously. My eyebrows are knotted so far together I wonder if it will be possible to undo them.

If I ever overcome the shock. God, I hope the wind doesn't change.

I'm standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring, absolutely horrified, because _everyothergirlsdreamcometrue_, otherwise known as Lily Evans' nightmare, is playing out before my very eyes.

_Mon Dieu._

Usually I'd consider myself a loquacious person. If approached to discuss something remotely interesting (read: not quidditch), I would consider it a possibility I could talk your ear off before anyone could point a wand and yell _sceptum-_bloody-_sempra._

As for today? Well I think a butterfly would be making more noise.

I was so committedly silent the healer shut me away in his office and attempted to treat me for shock. He was probably more shocked than I really, I mean, it's probably the first time he's delivered that news without coos and shrieks of excitement, or perhaps less excitingly, screams of doom.

I wish I could scream, because doom is coming home in under twelve minutes and will be expecting dinner which I most definitely have not cooked.

I suppose the non-existence of dinner probably won't help my façade of normalcy, so I'm going to have to rest on that flu excuse I've been using for the past few days. Unintentionally that is, I really did believe that I had the flu.

I _wish_ I had the flu.

The strangest thing is, I really don't mind the baby part. I mean, surely it will keep Sirius Black away for a while (due to the natural aversion he has to any kind of responsibility) and it might get me out of work for winter _if_ it gets to July.

That's a bit of an 'if' because unfortunately other people (or more specifically one other person), was obviously only _slightly_ involved in this process and he cannot know. Clearly at some point he is going to find out, but I hope that perhaps I can pass myself off as Virgin Lily with miraculous conception because this mishap was _definitely my fault_.

I can't stand it being my fault. Really, it is the most novel concept for me. James is always wrong. Men, in general, are always wrong. Very, very convenient scapegoats for whatever kind of disaster has struck.

(The preceding phrases forming the bulk of Lily's guide to life).

And how the tables have turned.

James is home in approximately three minutes and I look the picture of normalcy. In reality, this could be roughly translated to a slightly smaller version of your average troll. My only hope is that it will be gruesome enough for him to avoid his eyes enough to not notice any sort of physiological change.

(Although the chances of James actually avoiding me are around the same as encountering an albino dementor).

There is a small, extremely hard bump, just where my usually flat(ish) stomach met my hip bones. Just a small raise, barely noticeable across the breadth of my tummy. It feels strange and cool under my fingertips as I run them back and forth over it, eyeing myself suspiciously in the mirror.

I would've enjoyed a few more minutes with this alien bodily change except the front door clicks open and I jump about forty feet in the air, quickly shoving my t-shirt down and my hands behind my back, like a child caught with their hand in some kind of sweet jar.

Noticing that the bathroom is actually at the opposite end of the house to the front door, I quickly wipe my hands on the hand towel and, biting my lip, shuffle non enthusiastically to meet my doom.

Doom is sitting on the kitchen table nonchalantly and opening mail _by hand_ which would be extremely strange if I wasn't already conscious of the fact that he recently acquired a muggle letter opener and wants to show it off in the hope of looking extraordinarily pretentious.

'Lily' he sighs happily, catching sight of me over a sheet of paper and springing up to greet me.

Non-enthusiastically I grumble a hello and begin to shuffle towards the teapot. The mission is unsuccessful as he encloses his arms around my ribcage and pulls me into his chest, lips dropping to the top of my head.

'Lily dearest, you are always so lovely, but have you considered showering today?' he laughs, his trademark smirk spreading across his face.

Prat.

Completely unaware of my complete and utter hatred of his enthusiasm he skips back over to the table and picks up the letter, flashing the front of it to me over at the teapot, desperately trying to concentrate on the exact amount of tealeaves necessary to create the perfect English Breakfast.

'Your sister has big news apparently' he chirps, looking expectantly at me.

'Nyeh?' I mutter, non-committedly, taking a sip of the hot water and lemon juice I'd made, too impatient to wait for the sitting tea.

'Somehow she is pregnant! The Walrus must be so _proud._'

I splutter incomprehensibly and hot water goes everywhere, scalding my hands and forearms. It _burns_ like nothing else and I hop around on one foot for a couple of seconds yelling some choice expletives while James just laughs.

Double prat.

Once my pain dance has been completed I return to looking absolutely dumbstruck. This is fate at work, bloody, unavoidable fate.

The chances of my sister and I falling pregnant at the same time? A googolplex to one! Especially considering how, with Vernon, I didn't see that as anatomically possible…

My child is definitely going to be better looking.

James flips the page over and chuckles.

'Well, that was exciting. Imagine that Lily, responsible, career focussed Walrus with a child already? Bet you a thousand galleons it was a bit _spur of the moment_' he smirks suggestively.

My stomach flips violently. I feel like I could vomit all over the ugly linoleum kitchen floor.

'Hang on' I mutter, narrowing my eyes at James' hands, still clutching the letter, 'since when does Petunia ever write to you?'

'Almost as much as she writes to you' he chuckles, sending the broken envelope over my way.

'You know, it's a federal offence to steal someone's mail.'

'You know, I'm your husband.'

'I'll still get someone to lock you up for it, husband or not' I grumble, scrunching the envelope menacingly and throwing it at the bin.

'Oh please can it be you?' he pleads through wide eyes, winking suggestively after I scrunch my nose up in irritation.

'Speaking of you' he continues, 'what's for dinner?'

'Speaking of chauvinism, do it yourself' I mutter, straining the tea sloppily through the well-used strainer.

'Lily you know the reason we have this arrangement is only because you refuse to eat anything I make' he smiles patiently, 'something about salmonella ring a bell?'

I mumble incoherently.

'Just kidding Red' he murmurs, sideling up to me and enclosing my waist with his hands again, leaning into my back, his chest warm against it 'you look sick enough.'

'Always so complimentary'

'I really do try'

'Clearly'

He sighs. 'Look, I'll be right back with something. Pizza? Chinese? What's your choice?'

'Italian' I mumble, feeling slightly guilty about the whole thing, 'lots of it.'

'Hungry?' he laughs and quickly apparates out of the kitchen.

If only there was a conveniently placed cliff for me to fling myself off right now.

Only, there isn't and instead I must suffer the ultimate hell which is feeling guilty because everything really is _your entire fault_ and yet, you're still being an incessant cow to the individual you have wronged.

To soothe this unusual feeling which has developed not only in my brain but seems to directly correspond to my stomach, I venture into the lounge and lay on the couch, spreading my legs across the cool leather.

In contrast to the horrid, brown linoleum in the kitchen, James really spared no expense on the upholstery. At first I thought the leather was unnecessary, but nothing could really feel any better, other than when it was blisteringly hot and your legs stuck to it and made embarrassing sweat patches on the seat.

Placing my hand on my stomach I resumed running my fingers over the bump, trying to commit every curve and groove to memory as it soothed me.

_There, there baby. I'm sure things won't be __**that**__ bad, unless of course you end up with red hair as well._

I wondered, subconsciously, who it would look like. I wondered even more what sex it was. A boy I hoped. Girls would just be too much of a handful, especially if they grew up to be anything like Petunia.

James returned as quickly as he left, and instead of the forty foot leap, there was only time for the quick shirt pull and the sheepish expression which his food centric brain failed to notice.

Lifting my legs up and over his like a boom gate, he settled back into the couch and opened the plastic containers of bolognaise, motioning for me to eat.

'Wine Lily?' he motioned, unscrewing the cap and setting two glasses on the coffee table with the food.

'Ah no, can't' I answered automatically, before biting down hard on my lip and hoping that he wouldn't notice the difference in attitude.

'Can't?'

_Damn._

'The healer said it would be beneficial for me to refrain for a while' I covered, 'you know, so I can fully recover.'

So it wasn't a complete lie. In fact, I'd mainly told the truth. The healer had told me not to (once he had unsuccessfully treated me for shock, that is), and I suppose at some stage I was going to get 'better' however uncomfortable it was thinking about a baby as a disease.

(This was somewhat disconcerting).

'Of course' he mumbled through his pasta, 'what else did he say?'

'Just the usual stuff, more sleep, more clothes, less irritating distractions' I quipped, smirking back over at him.

'Ridiculous if you ask me,' he mirrored my expression perfectly.

We lapsed into comfortable silence for a while as we consumed the majority of the food lying on the table. Discarding the final plastic box he laid back and swung his legs around in the same direction as mine and scooted up the couch to lie behind me, tucking his head into the space between my jaw and my collarbone and fitting his body perfectly to the shape of mine.

He sighed contently and nuzzled his lips into my neck, trailing kisses down to my collarbone lazily.

'I love you so much' he murmured, eyelids fluttering closed in contentment.

'Mm' I sighed lethargically, closing my eyes and letting his body heat lull me.

'Where's the reciprocation?' he teased, gently nibbling on my earlobe.

'Mm, I love you too' I whispered.

'You know' he began, snaking his outside hand around my waist, 'I think we better move you up to bed missy.'

I stiffened a little as his hand edged closer towards the bump, and sat up abruptly when it lingered too close.

Normally I would have considered it irrational to be so upset over a physical change that small, but this was _different_ and James, knowing where every freckle on my body lay, was too much of a risk regardless of how long I'd unknowingly had the bump for.

'Eager?' he teased, gently patting my leg and sitting up slowly, yawning.

'Just tired'

'Go on then, I'll be up after I throw these out' he motioned towards the plastic containers. 'And don't forget to brush your teeth!' he called, 'you'll ward off vampires within the next fifty miles with that breath.'

Reaching the bathroom I stuck the toothbrush in my mouth and sat on the covered toilet seat, tucking my legs up under me.

The coolness was refreshing but I couldn't quite get over the anxiety in the pit of my stomach which was flipping around like anything and making my head numb. Unintentionally, I reached for the bump.

Then, I had a thought. It really was not a very ground breaking thought, nor a very laborious one, but it came at me with the weight of a freight train.

The bump was not going to stay that small forever. In fact, as surely as the fact that my hair was a shade of red, it was going to grow. Grow really, really big in fact. So big, it would be hard to get through the tiny doors in the cottage, or make dinner, or lie comfortably on the couch, or even see the linoleum floor from over the top of it.

I was going to get fat. I was going to get possibly more unattractive than I currently was.

My eyes pricked and filled with fat, wet tears, which were strange, because I'd never really cared about such vain things before. It's the hormones; the _stupid_ pregnant hormones.

And there it is. I'm pregnant.

Pregnant and unattractive. Pregnant and fat.

James was going to hate me.

Before I'd even registered both these notions I was spurting salty tears in every direction, feeling rather like a water fountain and probably looking more like a baby than the one in my stomach.

James of course, chose to stroll into the bathroom and blinked nervously at the tear spurting mess that was sitting on an unopened toilet seat with a toothbrush sticking precariously out of its mouth.

'Lily?' he asked, gently and curiously, shuffling around to me in preparation for some kind of strike that he probably thought was coming his way.

_And he thought it was __**his**__ fault._

'You know I was joking about the garlic breath' he soothed, lifting the toothbrush from my mouth and setting it on the bathroom sink, rubbing my back with his other hand.

'It's not…about…that' I somehow managed to sniffle, hurriedly wiping away tears with my jumper sleeve.

'Oh' he murmurs, picking me up gently in his arms and carrying me out to the bedroom and laying me on the bed.

'What's up then?' he continues, pulling me up to sit with him on the pillows, resting my head on his chest and threading his fingers into my hair.

I suppose he thought bringing me closer to him was going to make me calm down, when in reality it only made me feel more guilty and vulnerable. Fresh tears sprung up to my eyes and trickled down my face, accompanied by loud sniffles and harsh intake of breath.

'Well it's…it's just that…' I trailed off into loud sobs as he again, brought me closer and pressed his lips to my forehead.

'It's okay Lily, whatever it is, I'm sure we can fix it' he whispers into my hair.

'I don't want to _fix_ it James'

'Why? If it's making you upset I'll make it go away'

'It's…well it's not'

'What can I do then?' he answered, confusion lacing his tone.

'Nothing, I mean…well, it's all _my fault_ James and I really didn't mean for it to happen, and I know you're going to hate me and it's all going to end up really badly and I swear I didn't plan it or want to trick you or anything but It's just, I've become so attached and I don't want to change anything because I kind of like it but I know you're going to hate it and-'

'Lily, Lily, Lily' he shook his head, lifting my chin up to face his, 'I don't understand.'

'It's obvious isn't it?' I screeched, rather hysterical at this point.

'No…' he trailed off, eyebrows furrowing.

'Yes, yes it is!'

'Lily, what-'

'I'm so moody all the time, and I have the flu and have to stay in bed all day and I eat a lot and I get really bad flushes of hot and cold and-'

'Because you're sick?' he questions slowly, running a hand through his hair nervously.

'No James!'

'Well then I don't understand because, well I'm not-'

And that's when I realise that men, especially James, are quite stupid when it comes to explaining things with words, and I should probably take matters into my own hands in order for him to understand. Very literally.

Clasping his hand in mine deliberately I travel them under the sheets, stopping his meaningless monologue and resting directly over the bump. I'm not one hundred percent sure this is going to work, because James has probably accidently brushed his hand over it before and not noticed, just as I have, but I don't think I could say the 'p' work without bursting out into hysterics again.

His eyebrows stay knotted, confused for another minute as he runs his hand over the raised skin, slowly and gently, tickling it and covering it in goosebumps. When he gets to my hip bone however, and feels the indent into my normal belly height, his hand stops. His eyes widen and his lips form a little 'o' shape, eyebrows just about shooting up into his hair.

_Finally._

'Oh' he whispers, running his hands back over the bump to the other hipbone. 'Lily' he breathes, staring wide eyed at me, voice begging for some kind of explanation.

'I'm sorry' I squeak, averting my eyes quickly, retracting my hand from his.

'Lily' he says again, and I swear I can just see his brain whirring, trying to comprehend everything that's just occurred.

A wave of guilt washes over me again, feeling hot and shameful.

'Oh Lily' he groans, shooting his body down the bed and stopping when our heads are at the same height, facing each other. He crashes his lips into mine roughly and hastily, like he needs to let out his frustration somewhere, then remembers that my face is actually breakable and softens them, moulding them perfectly to mine and tenderly placing small kisses in the corners of my lips.

I can't quite believe that he's opted for a snogging session considering that my face is horrendous and my lips are probably laden with salty tears and maybe even some snot, but I'm more than happy to oblige.

'Why didn't you tell me before?' he asks weakly, moving his lips against mine.

'I thought you'd be angry' I whispered, averting my eyes again.

'Excuse me Lily but I think you have suffered serious role reversal' he quips, chuckling lightly, moving his lips to my cheekbones.

'Are you angry?'

'Of course not' he stiffens, moving his face back to stare at mine intently, 'I could never be angry about something like this' he says seriously. 'I was just a bit shocked, that's all, I promise' he nods, as if to consolidate his point.

I think I've entered into the third state of shock I've been in today. James Potter is being deadly serious. Probably for the first time in his short life.

'Besides' he continues, his wide eyes slowly dissolving into something akin to an expression which might belong on an excited puppy, 'I've always wanted someone young and impressionable to corrupt. You will allow me to keep it won't you Lily?' he pleads, and moves his head down the bed to rest over the bump, kissing it lightly and giving it a soft poke.

'Don't worry, I'm an incredible role model' he tells it, before flashing me a smirk.

_Triple Prat._

'You know, babies involve a little more work than just lessons in how to maraud'

'Don't fret Lily, I've managed to keep Sirius alive for this long, how hard can one of these be?'

'Considering Sirius has the maturity of a five year old, it probably won't be that much of a shock' I mutter lowly, shoving him in the shoulder.

'Lily! If you want me to be an attentive father you're going to have to stop manhandling me'

'Because you're so manly'

'Manly enough evidently' he smirks, poking me in the ribs. 'Speaking of Sirius, I'll be right back'

'Can any of your significant life events not involve Sirius?'

'Hush Lily, you will never understand the ways of the elusive marauder' he jokes, but then leans over to kiss my forehead.

'I won't wait up for you' I huff, pulling the duvet over my body and then mutter softly to the bump 'look, he's abandoning you already.'

James flashes me an injured look.

'Oh go _on_,the faster you get to Sirius, the faster I can get you away' I smirk, 'and in the meantime, I'll get Remus over here, I'm sure he'll make an excellent replacement father.'

He narrows his eyes but then lets out a bark of laughter.

'You know, I was thinking of asking Sirius to be the godfather' he jokes, but I know somewhere he's half serious.

'I'll divorce you for the good of the child' I warn.

'Too bad, the baby's going to have to have two fathers then'

'James, don't you even think-'

Before I can finish the sentence he's gone, the air twirling around where he once stood, the duvet and sheets gradually fluttering back to the bed from the flurry of movement.

Poor child; it's already been doomed to a lifetime of trouble.


End file.
